


starry eyed

by WonderAss



Series: golden spun, sunk so deep and we're undone [1]
Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: Alternate Canon, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Character Study, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, F/M, First Time, Jaggie - Freeform, Mental Health Issues, Pegging, Porn with Feelings, Slice of Life, Smut, soft dom/sub, soft smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-08 05:10:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20829947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderAss/pseuds/WonderAss
Summary: Trust takes on many forms. Maggie has an idea to shake things up...and with every new discovery comes a new hurdle.





	1. arrhythmia

**Song Inspiration:** "Fires And Flames" by Tinashe

*

_when colors fade, you could lose your way_

_i can take you home, we could be beautiful_

_so let me stay the night_

_won't you let me stay the night_

*

A busy day at the hospital with a gunshot victim, burn victim and car crash victim is _not_ a great time to propose a change in bedroom routine. Doubly so for a heart transplant case that needs her full attention. Then again, it's not like their careers gave them a lot of wiggle room on the matter.

Her phone takes advantage of that little epiphany to buzz, hammering the point home about as well as anything. Maggie reaches up one more time to make sure her ponytail is even, then gives up and looks around for the nearest reflective surface. The new receptionist's sympathetic look hasn't wavered the entire time. Wordlessly she reaches beneath the desk and hands her a pocket mirror.

"Oh, thanks."

If she were to wait for things to slow down before popping sex questions she'd be the crypt keeper before getting anywhere. Well. Besides that _one_ day back in May where the worst case the hospital got was a pregnant lady with triplets...who gave birth with no complications. Literally everyone else was either in the hospital from the start or came in with minor injuries. It was nicknamed the 'Hallelujah Day' for a reason (courtesy of Webber). She'd also be crowned The World's Shittiest Doctor if she wished for a peaceful day only for _sex_-related reasons.

"Okay, I give up. Does this look even to you?" She asks as she hands the mirror back. The receptionist (Nancy, that's her name) is already back on the phone, but gives her a thumbs-up in-between transferring a call. Maggie takes it to heart as best she can as the day whisks her away in all its wonderful, excruciating details.

It's the little things.

The thought originally came to her in the wee hours of sunrise, nebulous and vague as morning tends to be. It was the sort of half-finished mental draft she'd stash away on her computer if she weren't terrified of a third party (read: _very nosy sisters_) stumbling in on it. She wanted to shake things up for a relationship starting to inch out of 'new' territory, that healthy thing therapists were always suggesting clients do, and she wants it to be _full_ of healthy things. Even though it really was just new for _her_. She's never been with anyone for longer than a few months. Not with Ethan. Not with DeLuca. Jackson was starting to teeter right into longer-than-usual right into serious, and _all_ the hard work that came with the title.

It's just basic psychology. Proposing something new in a newly established routine was difficult enough as it is, so shaking up sex should at least be _fun_, right?

Except...it's not. No, the only thing worse than being the first one to come up with a potentially sensitive question is being in the _limbo_ of asking and _not_ asking. Maggie sighs and looks up at the ceiling as she finishes scrubbing. Every peaceful moment is contributing to the spiral, which Jackson would probably chide her over if he were here. Staying busy is just how she stays sane, if she's being perfectly honest, and seeing her co-workers buzzing like bees through the glass already has her feeling like a very soggy, very limp fly.

She all but skips into the surgery. The next few hours, at least, will be her own form of happy oblivion.

"Ready?" She asks to a sea of sharp eyes. "Let's do this."

***

"Seriously? He _has_ to know your astrological sign before dicking you down?"

Lunch is a lesson in deplorable peace _and_ self-awareness, because the new interns want to talk about their maybe sex lives in very explicit detail. Maggie dumps another sugar packet into her coffee and swirls it around. It's a wonder they manage to finish their food at _all_, with the speed they're talking.

"I just don't get it." Link's wince is as perfectly sculpted as the rest of him. "The arrangement of the stars has no bearing on how well I can..." He trails off and makes a very obscene gesture with his hand beneath the table. "I mean."

"Exactly. I'm still not sure if he's joking, because _now_ he's asking if I'm into 'alternative-BDSM'" Nico snorts over his air-quotes. "If this doesn't go well I'm just going to eat my phone and convert to a nunnery."

Schmitt's eyes flit over the rim of his glasses, still picking his way through his salad. He looks unusually pale, but then again, it doesn't take much to get him like that. Jo just rolls her eyes and looks down at her phone, about as unfazed as could be expected. Link, on the other hand, is trying is hardest not to choke on his sandwich. Maggie tries to focus on her coffee and bagel, but the thought in her head is more aggravating than a mosquito in her ear. She probably shouldn't say something, but-

"BDSM?" Oh, why can't she keep her mouth shut, _ever?_ "Isn't that...kind of intense for a first date?"

"Depends." Link punches one last fist into his sternum, then gives her a watery wink. "Sometimes it's the most relaxing thing you can do."

"Yeah, he didn't get specific." Nico adds. "You'd think 'bondage discipline submission machoism' is specific, but it's not. Then there's the whole 'alternative' thing..."

Maggie nearly breathes in her drink.

"This conversation is a choking hazard." Schmitt whispers.

"Like, yeah, some people really go all out with the whips and chains, but the core of BDSM is to surrender control." Nico continues. "It's like, I don't know...getting a massage or something. Letting someone just take care of you." He crosses his arms and grins back to Link. "It's a total psychological mind screw, really. I've seen books the size of Fellowship Of The Ring written on the matter."

"Oh, shit, you've read Lord Of The Rings?" Link glows like it's his birthday and trades the man a deafening high-five. Schmitt opens his mouth to speak, again, and looks back down, jabbing his fork into a soggy crouton.

Then a light bulb goes off in her head, so sudden and so bright it's a miracle nobody else can see it.

"I'm...gonna go get a headstart on the week." Maggie snatches her bag and book, latte precariously balanced between her fingers. "Enjoy your lunch." She nudges her untouched bagel toward Schmitt and gives him a parting bump with her shoulder. "Eat that. You'll regret if you don't."

Link wilts a little, as much as he can being the literal living epitome of cheer.

"Sorry, I know that wasn't exactly work appropriate!" He calls to her back, Nico echoing the sentiment.

'_Oh, no._' Maggie thinks, slipping between the shoulders of two very distracted nurses. '_I'm very grateful._'

She finds the perfect hiding spot in broad daylight. The locker room's empty and, judging by the state of the doors, everyone's either freshly off to work or hasn't clocked in for the day.

"Bingo."

She faces her laptop toward the door to remain on the safe side, letting her new terms feed her Google search. Her fingers move fast, but her brain is moving faster. Almost as fast as that brilliant night she reached an epiphany on her rechargeable hearts. Control! It's a _perfect_ concept. A little way to try something new while going even further than that. Loosening up is a big problem they both have, but Jackson? His whole _life_ is controlled, down to the literal letter. She could have him give up some of that control and finally relax, by giving..._her_ control.

Maggie opens a new tab...then pauses. ...Huh. This all made a lot more sense five minutes ago.

The more terms that glide across her vision, the more doors fling open in her brain. Pinning. Choking. Daily dominance-submissive gestures. Safe words. Aftercare. This is the kind of crash course she's used to, in a _very_ roundabout sort of way. It's only when she gets to the (lovingly detailed) sex position diagrams, though, does her head go for a tailspin. Maggie's mouth goes a little dry. Wow. It's...not all _that_ farfetched, really. People did this all the time. She's just never practiced bending over a man like _that-_

"Whatcha lookin' at?"

She snaps her laptop shut and puts on an automatic smile. It's no use. Amelia is already grinning in that Jack-O-Lantern way of hers, peering right over her shoulder.

"...Porn at work?" She snorts around a juice cup straw. Of _all_ drinks. "Seriously?"

"Not porn. Research."

"Oh, _that's_ what we're calling it these days? Gonna have to remember that one." She holds out a hand and arches it in some invisible rainbow. "'Sorry, Bailey. I wasn't looking at _extremely_ candid photographs of a hot model's ass. I was just studying his musculature.'"

Maggie's smile tightens. Okay. All right. Time to leave before Amelia _really_ started getting ideas on how to embarrass the everloving daylights out of her.

"Why are you..._here?_" She tries. "Don't you have a brain thing to start on?"

"Brain thing's done. It's quiet. I want quiet." She cocks an eyebrow and slurps so loud it's a wonder the windows don't break. "Why are _you_ here?"

A future heart patient's prep work is a pretty great excuse to get out of awkward conversations. Maybe that's why she sought out the profession. It's a morose thought she hopes doesn't follow her as she tucks her laptop away, squeezes past her sister and heads out the door, an amused last word hot on her heels.

"You know we live together, right!"

She should just ask. It never hurts to ask, right? It's also not _that_ big of a deal. A big enough deal for her to fret and research her way out of a hundred possible bad outcomes, sure, but small enough she could just forget about it and nothing would change. ...Probably.

"It never hurts to ask. It never hurts to ask. It never hurts to ask." Maggie mutters, trying to air out the bad sentiment like leftover balloon helium. Bailey gives her a funny look by the reception desk.

"It never hurts to ask what?" She squints. Maggie smiles and speeds up.

"_Questions!_"

No. No, this is _not_ something she needs hanging over her head the rest of the week. She knows herself. She's _going_ to dwell. Maggie finds Jackson easily enough, neck deep in study in one of the doctors' lounges. He's leaning back against the table and staring down a board of Sharpie notes in his usual illegible scrawl (which she's beginning to wonder is intentional to keep his secrets secret).

"Hey. Need me for something?"

Just like that, her thoughts slow to a blissful crawl.

Oh, absolutely. Right now she needed a few uninterrupted hours on Mer's porch swing with a glass of spiked pink lemonade in their hands, enjoying the twinkle of windchimes and children's laughter on the breeze. Jackson's nose buried in her hair at home, words so affectionate they're felt rather than heard. Anywhere...with a _smile_ on his face. This room may be a neatly refurbished remix on all the other lounges and conference rooms in Grey-Sloan, but the mere sight of him has her feeling like she just walked through a portal to another planet.

"Um...yeah, actually." Maggie shuts the door carefully, then walks over to one of the chairs by the table. "Got a minute?"

"Sure."

Jackson fiddles with an unopened bag of chips, pinching and tugging at the plastic. Maggie rolls her mouth from side-to-side. He's looking at the board, technically, but his eyes don't scroll. The fact it doesn't have two smoking holes through it is a miracle. She's not sure _where_ that constant habit of his began, not when she's still trying to sort out their blurry transition from co-workers to casual friends to now, but...he stares off into that middle distance a lot.

"Hey."

Jackson seems to remember she's there and turns, swiftly enough. She still spots that awful millisecond before his brow uncreases and his cheeks dimple. A hitch in the system, hastily smoothed out.

"...Hey." He leans forward, offering his chips as he does. "What's up with that look?"

Maggie opens the bag and nibbles on a Lay's to buy her time. How does she broach the topic when he's clearly got a million things on his mind? Calling Jackson back out of his fugue is already like trying to lasso seagulls, and trying to make sense of his web of problems is another battle entirely. What if he just finds her idea gross and she has to spend the whole day wishing she shut up? Then there was the _other_ side of the equation. _Not_ bringing it up and wondering if she missed out on a great opportunity to help him out-

"I can hear you, you know." Jackson says, abruptly. Maggie jerks to attention.

"Huh?"

"The thoughts cranking back and forth in your head." He slants a smile down at her. "They're _very_ loud."

For the love of...she's an _adult_, for goodness sake. Maggie takes in a deep breath and sets down the bag.

"I...wanted to talk about sex, actually."

_Now_ Jackson comes back to Earth. Not with the best expression, either. It's half 'startled by a cat while crossing the street' and half 'stepped on a Lego barefoot.'

"Sex? Am I not-"

"No! No, that's not it at _all_. It's not that you're not good." She puts on her most dazzling smile. "You're great, actually. Amazing. Like..._wow_."

"Oh. Good." He says it faintly, with his head cocked and his smile half-cocked with it. "That's...good, right? Because I'm hearing some unfinished sentences in there."

"No. No unfinished sentences. You're very good at dicking and licking me down and I can't wait for it to happen again, actually."

Jackson's smile slowly splits wide, from ear-to-ear. He crosses his arms.

"Okay, you're getting a little weird. What's up? Unless you just came in here to sing my praises in a very public space."

Maggie twists her hands together.

"Did you want to...try something new?"

"Deeepends on what it is." He cocks his head to the other side, then lifts an eyebrow. "Wait, you mean, like...whips and chains?"

Maggie sputters.

"Oh, god, no. I mean, not that there's anything wrong with that, but. No. Definitely not. I'd probably smack myself in the face with one of those and I'm pretty sure bruises and chipped teeth aren't sexy." She squints up at the ceiling. "...To most people."

"So, what, is this going to be process of elimination?" There's a little exasperation behind the amusement, but that was one of the many things she adored about him. Even at her most neurotic Jackson would just follow along patiently until something stuck. "'Cause I got theories."

Maggie's throat isn't being wet by the coffee at all. What was the science behind that? She probably got too much syrup, if it was having this completely opposite reaction. She takes a hearty gulp (that _still_ doesn't help) and sits up as straight as she can, staring down the man now leaning forward eagerly. ...It could also be that curiously curious expression on his face, too. Jackson, as he's been doing more and more lately, meets her halfway.

"Bondage."

"Nope."

"Spanking."

"Ew. No."

"Puppy play."

"What...the _hell_ is that?"

"You don't wanna know. Water sports?"

God, it's hard to keep a straight face. No matter what she did Jackson could see right through her, anyway, because those bright eyes double as full-time lasers. Maggie shakes her head wonderingly.

"Okay, first of all, how...do you know all of this? I haven't heard of, like, two of those. I was looking, too. For...research...purposes."

"Come on, you've never gone on a porn site at least once?" Jackson leans back and squints. "...Huh. You really haven't. Well. Feet?"

"What about them?" Maggie blinks. "Oh. You mean foot fetish? No, no."

"Hm." He rubs at his beard, frowning at the floor. "Pegging?"

Maggie opens her mouth...then snaps it shut. Damn it. _Damn!_ She just had to date a man that was actually smart. Not just book smart, but _people_ smart. Jackson's eyes flick back up to her, then slowly widen. He tilts his head, as if waiting to hear a punchline. When he doesn't get one his eyes drift along the floor, flicking back and forth like he's reading something. Then he catches her gaze again. Slowly, carefully, he leans his elbows onto his knees and knits his fingers together.

"...You...want to _peg_ me?"

'_Hell yeah_', is the answer her brain immediately screams. For once in her life -- and when she needs it _least_ \-- her brain-to-mouth filter decides to kick in and make her clamp tighter than a mouse trap. Maggie just nods and tries to maintain eye contact, which is kind of like an ant trying to stare down a magnifying glass in Californian weather.

"...Oh." Jackson blinks, rapidly, and purses his mouth into a thoughtful frown. "...Huh."

"I'm sorry if that's weird." She starts, hastily. "If that's weird _please_ don't feel pressured o-or freaked out or-"

"Hey, hey." He holds up a hand. "I didn't say no. I just said...huh."

"_Huh_."

"That's right. Huh." Jackson leans back in his chair, closes one eye and peers at her with the other. "_Why_...if you don't mind my asking?"

"It'd be hot."

Maggie snaps her mouth shut again. Jackson blinks at her, a smile hovering around his lips.

"And..." She stutters around not enough air. "I-I want you to feel good."

Then Jackson's grin hitches a little. Fades, but doesn't quite vanish. An epiphany is flickering through his eyes, like he's going through his own half-formed morning thoughts, right alongside that same intimate understanding she can always count on to jumpstart to full power in a second. No, _no_, she _can't_ do a full dissection right now. Not when she's got an _actual_ dissection scheduled later this week. Time to talk stats.

"I mean, anal sex is very pleasurable for cis men. Not just gay cis men, either, but cis men of _all_ shapes and sizes and sexualities. Actually one of the most common ways they step out of the box, so to speak. I mean, it makes sense. The prostate is pretty much a g-spot. Just..." Maggie makes a fist and slaps it into the palm of her hand. "_Pow_. Super orgasm."

"I...know what a prostate is." His chest twitches with an aborted laugh. He rolls one hand in the air. "But, please. Go on."

Maggie puffs a sigh out of the side of her mouth. Does he really have to be facetious _now?_

"I also have a deep confession to make. I've always wanted to turn 'pain in your ass' into a double entendre."

Jackson, arms still crossed, bends over until his head is bowed between his knees and snickers helplessly. Boom. Victory one. Getting a genuine laugh out of Jackson wasn't always easy, so she could definitely do this.

"_Wow_." He says, once he's caught his breath, and she wishes she had her phone out to snap a picture of the helpless mirth on his face. "Okay. All right. You talked me into it. Let's try it."

"What?" Maggie leans back so hard the chair squeaks. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. Seriously." Jackson squints again. "Unless you _weren't_ being serious-"

"I was! I mean...okay. Yeah. Awesome."

It still feels like waiting for the other shoe to drop. Then again, it might be her fault for building up the worst-case scenario well before the fact. Jackson smiles one of those sweet, suave little smiles and scooches forward a little, arms still crossed.

"Maggie. I took down a guy trying to attack a patient with a hammer on my first day working here. A silicone toy isn't going to scare me off."

"Right. Yeah, okay. Good." She claps her hands together. "Um...I was checking out a few things earlier today, actually. Dildos, strap-ons. Sex...positions." She grits her teeth when a nurse walks past the door. "...Yeah, I should've waited to ask you this after work."

"Probably." Jackson chuckles again, and, God, it's just...nice to hear. "Okay. I'll do some research, too. All I really know about anal sex is...just the anal and not the sex."

Check and mate. This went approximately ten thousand times better than she thought. Maggie crumples up her chip bag and tosses it, missing the trash can by a foot and a half (and getting a sputter from Jackson). At that she looks for the nearest lightweight object to throw at _him_, when her brain suddenly considers any possible repercussions. _Any_ tiny details she overlooked on her way to fuck Jackson into a better state of mind. Maggie swiftly stands and takes his shoulder. Jackson glances at her hand, then at her, one eyebrow raised and waiting.

"...You can still eat me out, though." She says, firmly. "Even if this ends up being a hit, that'll still be a thing."

Jackson slowly smiles. He spares a quick peek out of the half-open blinds, then leans down and gives her cheek a soft kiss. He follows this with a nuzzle to her jawline, then a nip to her earlobe, _just_ lightly enough to make her skin bounce with goosebumps.

"Oh...I know."

***

Heart metaphors are one of the most common shorthands, no matter the culture or age group. Why wouldn't they be? The heart is the centerpiece of life.

The tick-tock of a clock. The thump-thump of a heart. The thrum of a car's engine. The reliable center people needed to feel safe, to feel loved, was _everywhere_. Even years after graduating and getting her feet wet in Yale, it still felt like such an honor to be so intimately familiar with that small, infinitely powerful muscle. Even as she was finding out just how little she really knew about how it worked.

"You going home soon, Webber?"

This man's heart could probably power a yacht. The bags under his eyes are heavier than ever, though they scrunch in that warm smile he's been practicing for her.

"Not for another hour and a half. You get a head start on that sleep. You've more than earned it." His smile is tired, yet sincere. "Nice work today."

"Thank you."

More than nice, if she says so herself. Maggie takes a second to breathe in the damp air once she's outside, letting out a grateful sigh, the long day suddenly feeling very, _very_ far away. It was the kind of night that invited her to muse on rechargeable hearts over tea and cookies. When she sees Jackson slumped on the steps leading out of Grey-Sloan, she thinks not of electrical charges, but of an arrhythmia. A hitch on the delivery, of the calm and observant man she usually knows. A tiny skip that's as loud as a flashbang to anyone who knows hearts -- or Jackson -- as well as she does.

A mango Snapple and a spare orange from the cafeteria aren't much, but they're better than nothing. Jackson's timing is off again when she stands next to him, staring off into the trees across the street, or maybe the bad parking job by Bailey's car. It's three seconds before he answers.

"Thanks."

Seattle is behaving today. The air is crisp and cool, the only hint of cold easily trapped between the trees and building. Jackson smiles when he sees her -- he always does -- but she sees the hitches again when he turns his gaze back onto the parking lot. That awful hunch in his shoulders. The deep furrow in his brow and pinch to his mouth, like he's fighting a losing battle against a migraine. They're all creaking twitches of an overtaxed system unable to betray anything other than a cry for help. Jackson twists and untwists the top to the Snapple bottle, staring off at something and nothing. Saying something and nothing.

She's already asked one pretty big thing today. At least, for her. She might as well keep the ball rolling.

"Have you thought about..." Maggie starts, then trickles off when Jackson's breathing doesn't even change. "...Jackson."

"Hm?" He tilts his head toward her a little, still staring off at something. Nothing. "...What?"

"...It's nothing." She kisses his shoulder, then lays her cheek against it. "We can talk about it later."

Jackson shifts a little, in that aching way when words can't make it to the air, and she doesn't comment further. Twice he starts to say something, and twice he stops. Maggie holds his hand and keeps a thumb on his pulse. Listening to him try to breathe through all the knots he keeps stored deep in his chest.

Counting one-one thousand, two-one thousand.

***

"What are you working on, Aunt Maggie?"

"Just a little boring work. Why don't you go play downstairs? I'll see you at dinner, okay?"

Zola squints suspiciously, then glides backwards out the door to leave it open at a crack. Ever since she decided she learned how to moonwalk she's been doing it _constantly_. Maggie raises her eyebrows until the door's _properly_ shut, then turns back around and wishes, not for the first time, she had her own place.

"Back to reading about the difference between water-based and silicone-based lube." She mutters, sipping the last inch of her now-lukewarm tea. "Eat your heart out, university."

It's actually been pretty fascinating sneaking sex and psychology into her usual heart drills these past few days. Learning how surrendering control can actually be a way to _free_ someone from the stressors of their life. Maggie pulls up another .pdf, then debates the merit of asking Zola to refill her mug.

Control working as a method of freedom isn't too big a leap. It's pretty much the medical field in a _nutshell_, what with patients having to completely put their trust and/or faith in complete strangers to keep from dying. Maggie frowns and leans back in her chair. Maybe that was a little dramatic, but...still. There was a connecting thread between the two ideologies: the foundation of a reliable medical system _and_ the foundation of trust between two very tired and very horny adults. Maybe she herself wasn't a huge fan of being brand new at things, but...this was just as good for her as it would be for him.

Jackson was suffocating under the force of too many elements out of his control. _Has_ been. His growing faith in a God he's still not totally comfortable with, the aftermath of grief, his mother. God, his _mother_. It wouldn't be a shock to see her face next to the updated Mirriam-Webster dictionary definition of the word. The supernova of thoughts threatens to completely upend the evening and have her spiraling into another long night with no sleep. Maggie hurriedly looks for the most distracting image she can find, of which she has the pick of the litter.

"How do you even _bend_ like that?" She mutters, leaning forward and squinting at the high-quality photo wrapping up the first chapter. "...Yeah. Definitely not that one."

But to have someone surrender control, and _finally_ relax, meant someone else being _in_ control. That meant..._her_. She's plenty assertive -- years of bullying has given her no choice but to learn how to push back -- and she's got the wit to back it up. She's just...not the dominant _type_, though. Nothing like Owen's military history or Bailey's massive presence. What's she supposed to do? Boss him around, but in a 'sexy' way? Maggie rubs her temples and tries to urge the _very_ unwelcome, _very_ intrusive thought of her in a leather catsuit into the trash where it belongs.

A knock on the door, followed by the mutter of someone she doesn't know, has her jumping to her feet. When she jogs downstairs Meredith is signing a tablet in front of a UPS worker with a small box.

"_Ah!_ Ah, that's mine." She snatches it and gives her sister an affectionate bump on the arm. "Thank you."

"What is it?"

"My package." Maggie winks. "From Amazon."

Meredith's eyebrows raise, mouth halfway open on a question, and Maggie jogs back up the stairs before it can hit the air. Once she's safe in her room she lets out a grateful sigh. Step one's done. Now for step two. She tears off the tape, then digs through the packing peanuts.

"...Phew."

Maggie's jaw drops as she slowly holds the strap-on up to the light (which reminds her of a videogame, though she can't for the _life_ of her remember the title). It's...certainly impressive. She twists it this way and that, admiring the accurate-yet-not-_too_-accurate design. It's outfitted with all the bells and whistles needed to keep it on, with a few extra additions to make the whole process easier. ...Including a how-to manual. Oh, she's going to have to try it on, isn't she? With a sigh she wriggles out of her jeans, kicking them off into the corner to try and fool her entire state of being that this is a completely _casual_ thing. Getting it on is simple..._ish_. No matter how she angles herself in the mirror, she never looks any less ridiculous.

"...That a dildo?"

Amelia leans in the doorway, one arm stuffed under her pit and the other hand holding a half-eaten apple. Maggie doesn't even bother turning around. Not when she can perfectly see her sister's cheeky grin in the corner of the mirror.

"Does _nobody_ knock anymore?"

"_Oh_. It's a strap-on." A shrug. "Sorry."

The jig was already up. Denial's just been finally kicked to the curb.

"Always thought those things looked kind of silly." Maggie gives the woman a long overdue scowl. Amelia scoffs and gestures with her apple. "Well, ideally you don't want someone looking at _that_, anyway. You want them just feeling the..." She does a little hip thrust. "..._righteousness_."

"You know, when you put it like that?" She gives the dick a slap and watches it bob. "I feel _totally_ normal about this."

"Great. Also, one of your straps is loose."

Amelia flits over to help her adjust where the strap is digging into her waistline. Ever helpful in that impish way of hers. Right on time, Zola pads up the stairs, probably making a beeline to her room about something else or another. Maggie looks back again at the mirror and sighs.

Here's to new things. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I have a condition. It's the 'this was meant to be a one-shot then got so long I had to split it into two chapters' condition. Side-effects may include staying up obscenely late to make minor edits readers probably won't notice and pining over recent canonical changes.


	2. ether

**Song Inspiration:** "Jupiter Greyscale" by Gallant

*

"Good evening, ma'am. Table for one?"

"Two, actually. Just over there."

It's like seeing him for the first time, every time.

The thought isn't automatically pleasant. For a second it actually has her wondering if the good ol' 'Grey's Patented Early On-set Alzheimer's' is making its way around, which is _completely_ depressing.

"Right this way."

The waiter gestures to the far window across the dining hall, where the light strings start to dapple up the windowframe and where Jackson is waving a hand for her attention. Maggie responds with a happy wave of her own. No...no, it's just love. That warm, helpless, headlong tumble _into_ love that makes even a basic evening dinner feel like Christmas Eve. Jackson's merle sweater makes his skin glow all the warmer, leaning back with a glass of champagne and a rosy tinge darkening his cheeks. The sight of that nearly empty glass is depressing, too, but his smile is too welcome to question.

"Already got started without me?" Maggie squints down at him as hard as she can without losing her vision entirely. Jackson licks a stray drop from his lip and chuckles.

"'Course not. Just a taste test." He peers into his glass. "Pretty good. I'd give it a nine for the floral notes. Eight for the finish."

"So...a nine and an eight _without_ me."

Jackson huffs and reaches around the table, giving her skirt a little tug for her to just _sit_ down and enjoy the evening, already. His eyes never leave her as she dangles her purse on the edge of the chair and smooths down her dress. They definitely roam when she reaches up to double-check her gold earrings (on loan from Meredith's long-neglected jewelry stash). The glittering city lights several stories below are like a bed of stars, but even the captivating real-time painting can't turn her gaze. Jackson is the first to speak.

"...You look gorgeous tonight." His smile creases, soft and wide. "_Wow._"

"Thank you." She looks him over, appreciating the soft glow bouncing off his long, brown neck. "That color really suits you."

"It's a shade, but thanks." He snickers when she knocks his hand away. "Oh, come on, I missed you."

"If _this_ is how the evening's going to go, I'm going to need more of that floral whatever you're drinking." She picks up her empty glass and wiggles it. "Bring it here."

Casual conversation's never been her strong suit. Jackson makes her look like a pro. As they nibble away at an appetizer of stuffed feta mushrooms they chuckle over a particularly odd case yesterday: a patient who ate a (supposedly) one-hundred percent biodegradable shoe sole on a dare. Ever the talk of the hallways. Once that wraps up Jackson begins to, and predictably suppresses, a rant about the obligations of the board. It's a topic about as fraught as anything on a doctor's plate, what with his mother's boot ever on his neck and financial surprises never far away.

"I say one thing, she contradicts it. I say another, she barely changes anything, then pretends it's _her_ idea. I just...it's...whatever. It's nothing. The problem resolved itself. I'm just complaining."

He could stand to complain a little more, but it's not an easy journey to start, much less finish. Jackson offers her the last mushroom -- which she takes, because _cheese_ \-- and instead switches the topic to interior decorating. Light fixtures (his favorite) and potted plants (her growing favorite, pun intended). The little bubbles and pops of concern she's used to sink to the floor, heavy beneath the weight of alcohol and comfort. Before she knows it, their waiter has brought over their meals, sizzling hot wine marinated steak, and they murmur comments around happy mouthfuls.

Eventually, as it only could, their on-and-off conversation makes a turn toward what they're going to do tonight. It's partially why she's been maintaining a steady buzz.

"You know, I _thought_ about making a bunch of ass puns, but decided against it." Jackson's peering at her like a bird, again, and she has to keep from snorting bubbly into her nose.

"Good. That's good!" She takes a slow sip this time. "Because I would've won."

"Now _you're_ being an ass."

"Butt I'm right."

"Anal-retentive, too."

Maggie clutches her chest. Jackson throws his head back in a laugh.

"I win."

"Fine. You win."

In a way, it's her success, too, she thinks as his eyes twinkle like starlight. As with any success, the nerves don't take long to emerge.

"Gave up pretty easily there." He leans his cheek into his hand. The champagne is no doubt sinking in properly right about now. "Lucky me."

She's got plenty of great comebacks, but they're a little _too_ immature for a swanky restaurant (whose menu prices she's not bubbly-brave enough to look at yet). Maggie nibbles on her last asparagus and tries to think of another segue. Her rechargeable hearts and their recent development on eco-friendly recycling practices isn't bad (never discussed enough in her line of work). _His_ latest work in fish skin overlays (still one of the coolest things she's ever laid eyes on). One thought pierces through all of it, rising up from the lazy murmur. Jackson sees it on her face. All of it, apparently, because his brow furrows and that easy mood dips a little.

"...What's wrong?"

Maggie takes a courage sip of champagne. Very, very slowly.

"Is there, um..." She starts, voice kept just below the flickering hubbub around them. "...something you've been wanting to talk about?"

Jackson pauses swiftly enough. Even looks surprised. He's too smart, though, to not know exactly what she's referring to. It's that automatic reaction she's still trying to ease him out of, an instinct far better suited for work or those soul-sucking corporate meetings where he can't risk looking too human. He opens his mouth to answer, then sighs through his nose and looks at his drink.

"Um..." He starts, then hesitates, again. "Do you mean...personal, or...?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'm not trying to turn this heavy. I'm just...worried."

"I know. I'm...glad." He winces and holds up a hand. "Not...glad you're _worried_, but it...means a lot." His gaze droops down to his drink. "...Being worried about."

Then he's gone again. Staring through his cup, the floor and whatever else was beneath this bar. Maggie finishes the rest of her bubbly, hoping it'll put out the aching fire threatening to overwhelm her chest.

"Um." He tries, again...then, for what feels like the hundredth time, says nothing. A long gap that spans the restaurant.

Jackson...is filled with gaps. When he stutters to a stop like this she gets to see, all over again, the spaces and places he's been trying to fill. Maggie finishes her champagne and nudges the glass to the side to take his hand, rubbing his knuckles as softly as she's able. What kind of gap did she fill? Was she filling more than one and doing a good job of it? Jackson stares out the window for a long time, or what feels like a long time in the fuzzy space between bubbly haze and bubbly hubbub.

"Is that what you wanted to ask me?" He murmurs, rubbing her hand back, eyes flicking back and forth. "Over on the stairs."

"I thought...I want...to know if you'll maybe see a therapist." Maggie tries. His responding wince is as loud as a car horn. "I'm not trying to be insulting. I just know I can't do it all and you can't do it all."

And the mood is dead. About as abrupt as if she ran it over with her car in a sloppy drive-by. Jackson finally turns to her and gives her a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, nodding firmly and reaching for the bottle again.

"...Maybe. I'll think about it."

That's not a good enough answer, and her mouth's working before she can stop it-

"But you haven't _been_ thinking about it?"

"...No." She watches his mouth tense as he measures out two careful fingers, pouring as smoothly as any of the experienced waiters here. "It's just...it's not that I _don't_ respect psychologists. Of course I do. I'd be a shitty doctor otherwise. It just kind of...feels like admitting defeat, after being discharged and all that." He tips the bottle to her. "Another?"

"Sure." Maggie holds out her glass, refusing to lose sight of that taut line painting his face. She's going to follow it like a trail of breadcrumbs, like she has been all these months. "It's not defeat, though, Jackson. How is asking for a little more help a mark against your character? That's not how you view people with...with half their _face_ peeled off from acid. That's not how you view a patient who needs a new nose."

Jackson rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. It's more a surrender than sarcasm, but it still makes her chest sting.

"I knew you'd say that." He mutters. Maggie tilts her head, trying to catch his gaze.

"It's _true_."

"I know. I know it is." Jackson closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath, all the way in his chest. He reaches over to take her hand again, squeezing firm. "...You're more honest than me."

She knows that's true, too.

The waiter asks them if they'd like dessert, which she can't even _imagine_ after the best damn steak dinner she's ever had in her life. Her vision is starting to swim a little, which also means any more food will be bad news. When the tip comes Maggie immediately tugs out her wallet and starts rifling for bills. Jackson looks at her like she just grew a third leg.

"...I got it." He intones, slowly, not breaking eye contact as he reaches into his coat pocket. Maggie takes his hand instead and laces their fingers together.

"I got it." Now he's looking at her like she grew a _fourth_ leg. She gives his hand a squeeze. "Come on, you _always_ treat me. Let me live in the illusion just this once that I'm doing you a solid after a crummy paycheck or something."

The light in his eyes dims a little. Hardly more than a flicker, then he's back to smiling.

"Being wined and dined. Pretty new all around. Okay. So you got..." He leans back, closes one eye and squints slyly at her, mouth curled as mischievous as a cat.

It's a good look on him.

Maggie gives one last wave to the waiter, then tugs him out into the city evening. Jackson holds his liquor well, but even his gait is a little crooked, a fact he tries to hide by curling a firm arm around her waist as they pick their way down the stairs. Once the ground's level he sneaks in kisses, coy for no other reason than he can be, even though it's dark and the world could care less. He smells of wine and butter, of regal details and happy memories. Just a whiff of cologne lingers when she breathes in the warm skin of his neck, still untouched from the Seattle autumn.

"Are you ready to go, then?"

"Oh, I most certainly am." Keeping an arm around her waist he gesticulates with his other arm, rolling and exaggerated. "As king of the-" He raises his voice a little when Maggie sputters, grinning from ear-to-ear. "-of the _Plastics_, I have cobbled decades of experience from only the wisest and most skilled on the art of the posterior-"

"_Posterior?_" She howls, trying to push his face away. Jackson takes her wrists and holds them firm. "That's oldhead speak-"

"-_and_, as such, I'm just making sure you got everything, because I most definitely have done my research."

"Oh, I definitely got everything. Amelia made sure of it." Maggie blinks, then claps a hand over her mouth. Jackson's jaw hits the sidewalk.

"You _told_ her?"

"No! No, no, she's just nosy about mail."

Jackson buries his face into her shoulder and blubbers a sloppy laugh, thoroughly undone a second time over. Maggie follows close behind, holding onto his back and laughing. They lean close and badly flirt a block down as they wait for a ride back to his place, nursing a pocket of warmth between their bodies. There may have been a few arrhythmias tonight, but it's nothing she won't be able to jolt back into place once they get back home and dim the lights.

***

"You can back out if you want. I mean it, it's not a big deal. I mean, it's a _little_ big, bigger than I thought it was going to be from the photo-"

"It's fine. I'm good."

"I just want to make sure. I know it's a little weird sticking one of these up your-"

"You're _kind of_ making it weird."

"Oh. I am?"

The glance Jackson gives over his shoulder could cut through glass. It's still a theory she wants to test. Maggie pretends to fuss with the straps around her waist, even though they're so snug they're starting to cut into her hip bone. It's like the people who designed this thing were going to wear them while jumping out of a plane. BDSM skydiving? It _could_ be a thing. It's not like she's an expert on the wild and crazy kinks modern couples come up with. She only just seemed to catch on that _this_ was a thing, when apparently it's a pretty big deal-

"You're having second thoughts."

Jackson turns those high-beams right back on her again and keeps them there, leaning up off his stomach to twist into a position that's making her whole throat feel like velcro.

"No! No, I'm not, I'm _totally_ not." She shakes her head, hopefully not hard enough to look suspicious. "Not at all."

Jackson slowly raises an eyebrow.

"You...totally are. You've been kneeling there for probably an hour with a fake dick talking about everything under the sun other than what we're doing." He glances at the clock, then huffs. "Well, twenty-seven minutes. Still."

Really? _That_ long? A quick glance at the clock confirms it. Maybe she was just going about this all wrong. She could look at this like approaching a surgery. People got rectal exams all the time, didn't they? Maggie scrunches her face until her cheeks hurt. Wow. She couldn't have made tonight less sexy if she _tried_. With any hope Elon Musk or whatever billionaire with too much spare time didn't invent mind readers. She'd lose every last shred of dignity she's built since university. Jackson has rolled onto his back now, leaning up on his elbows with one long leg curled.

"Okay, you just went through, like...fifty different expressions right there."

Maggie flaps a hand.

"It's nothing. I'm good. Roll over."

Jackson drops his head back and blows a sigh to the ceiling.

"_Maggie..._"

Her heart skips hotly, the kind of hot that feels exactly like accidentally touching the edge of a frying pan. No, _no_, she's _not_ ruining this. They've been talking about this for _days_! Trading hints in-between shifts and flirting over the phone and one time getting caught outright talking about the best angles by Mer, of _all_ people. Now here she is, perfectly prepared and still somehow about to ruin something nice. Something nice for a damn good man, that she wanted to do as a loving gesture on top of the pile.

She tries to stop the mental dam before it breaks, but she was never very good at _not_ thinking about things.

Jackson's life has been nothing but stress for months. Well, past few _years_, if she's going to get exact and go through literally everything. His divorce with April, which is still haunting his every footstep in one form or another. His falling in with a God she doesn't know but _wants_ to support. Balancing an astronomically stressful job with being a devoted father _and_ her boyfriend. His PTSD and depression, which he _finally_ got diagnosed with (and he still hasn't _quite_ fessed up to having). Oh, shit. Then his mother's surgery. Her surgery! Right after an estranged father he met up with again and left disgusted. God, it's...so _much_.

Falling in love with Jackson...is like trying to shove a mountain into a backpack. Yet, somehow, that wasn't even the hard part. Somehow, it's not even _close_ to the hardest part.

Day in, day out. It never ends. At the hospital his smile is as pleasant and pretty as can be, but the moment he turns around she sees a back so stiff someone could bounce pennies off it and hit the opposite wall. She tried that, once, and it actually worked. He wasn't amused. Ever since then she's been utterly obsessed with getting him to unwind. Somewhere private and quiet, their own little haven from the world and _all_ the meteors it keeps crashing into their laps. Going out to drink is nice, sure, and it gives her an excuse to put on one of her evening dresses, but...it's not the _same_. He still has to put on a performance. Triply so if (when) someone recognizes him and asks for a selfie.

It's amazing, how much she's learned since they got together and decided to give the whole 'humans crave emotional and physical intimacy' thing a try. Being co-workers and casual friends was _one_ thing, and a very nice one, but the past half-year? It's been a _crash_ course. She's never been a crammer, either. She always took her time, with every new thing she's learned. But people weren't as easy as a textbook. The wrong details spilled out at the wrong time, all the time. The right details couldn't just be sussed out with a glance in the index. Sometimes they had to be wrestled out tooth and nail. If they even came out at all.

Jackson never quite knows how to stop performing.

This cool and collected doctor that could charm a patient with just one flash of the teeth. This dutiful son for his famous mother, admirable and powerful and suffocatingly overbearing _all_ at the same time. A devoted father for little Harriet, hopefully too young to notice the tension that slipped through the cracks whenever he bounced her in the hospital playroom. Her loyal and loving boyfriend, the role he hiccuped into and has still _somehow_ excelled at. Everyone has their parts to play. She certainly had hers. As a heart surgeon, as a committed big and little sister (depending on who she was chatting to at home).

His runs too deep, and it's scary as hell.

Jackson Avery...laughing with her over Lays chips and orange juice in the lounge one day. Jackson Avery, blubbering into his fisted hands after too much wine the same night, talking about hating God and loving God and _hating_ himself and loving _her_. Jackson Avery, burrowing into his chest the following morning and changing the subject so smoothly it's as if nothing happened, smile as easy as the sunrise. How many times would he just...stare off into space and she'd have to pull out every stop in the book just to bring him back?

That time she walked in on him after a late shift and found that mysteriously broken lamp on the floor, scattered enough to suggest it hadn't been bumped into. The scream she heard that early morning in September, before the last star was out of the sky. Her mind's steps grow crooked from all the evidence piling at her feet. Sitting on the stairs, but five miles ahead. Being at a nice dinner table in a nice restaurant, but outside. She's known from the moment the idea popped in her head, but now the weight of what she's taken on hits her square in the chest.

It's was never just about sex. Not even close. It's a chance for him to shrug all those roles off and just be..._him_.

"Oh, God." His half-horrified whisper cuts through her thoughts. "What was _that_ look?"

"What...look?"

"_That_ look. Christ, Maggie. Somehow you tell me everything and nothing at the exact same time." Jackson's mouth scrunches. "Normally it's cute, but now..."

"...it's frustrating?" Maggie hedges, her stomach shrinking into a little piece of soggy Kleenex. Jackson pushes off his elbows, bouncing the bed (and her fake dick, her mind reminds with _ridiculous_ detail). He huddles up to her, crosslegged now with his hands on his ankles and a familiar softness painting his cheeks.

"...Worrying." He says, gentle as he always is. Maggie slumps forward and flops her forehead against his shoulder. "Worrying is the word I was going for."

"I'm..._so_ sorry, Jackson. I'm just nervous." She mumbles into his skin. "I can shove my hands into someone's guts and stitch in a new kidney, but a new sex toy has me on the fritz."

Jackson leans his face into her hair, nose pressing against her ear in an affectionate snuffle. His breath is just a little hoarse, a pitch she's heard more than once in one of the spare rooms at Grey-Sloan.

"...And here I was hoping you'd shove your hands into _my_ guts."

Maggie blinks...then _sputters_ and shoves him away. Jackson falls back into the bed in happy defeat, snickering his ass off. She grabs a pillow and lobs it at his head, then another one, just in case. She considers yanking off the strap-on and slapping him with it, but she just got the damn thing tightened. He holds his arms above his head in a protective barrier, risking a peek through his forearms.

"I mean it, Maggie. We can always do this another time. I'll just be sure to ask you out of earshot next time." He grimaces a smile. "Amelia's _neeever_ going to let us live that down."

"Neither will Meredith."

"Yeah. ...Wait, _what?_ Meredith knows, too?"

Maggie slaps both hands over her face.

"I wasn't sharing the details of our sex life. Honest. She just caught me...uh...practicing sex positions in my room."

She peeks through her fingers at him, still sprawled out on the sheets and still somehow so, so elegant, cheeks rosy and eyes glittering with good humor. God, this man. This man, who's been a co-worker, a work friend, a _friend_ friend, and now someone her heart swells at just the _sight_ of. Doesn't matter what he's doing. Eating a bowl of that heart-healthy cereal she professionally condones but can't stand the taste of. Picking out another pair of running shoes for his (overflowing) collection. Trying to convince her to brave the mosquitoes and endless dirt for a soul-searching camping trip (still up in the air).

For some people a love life threatens to put someone special on a pedestal. For her it was the _removal_ of the damn thing that had her nervous. He's gone from the larger-than-life Avery to her dearest one. Her mother always called people that. Even at her most practical she was endlessly romantic, telling her that what a lover called someone without meaning to was how they truly felt. Jackson was the moon in her sky, the twinkle in her eye, the...electricity to her rechargeable heart, whatever. The everything wonderful to her everything wonderful...and it's so, _so_ scary.

She saves lives all the time. Three hundred and fifty-five total, if she's being exact. Monumental feats of medical technology mixed with the beautiful chaos of a thousand professionals...resulting in a little girl able to play a soccer game without being sent to the hospital. An eighty-seven year-old man able to hold his grandchildren for a few years longer. In that she realizes, it's the smaller things that slip right between her fingers. This could, too...and life was too short for that.

Jackson's smile has faded from his face, slow as a sunset, and his voice has sunk with it.

"Am I ever going to see that movie playing behind your eyes?"

Maggie shakes herself.

"Of course."

"Okay." He looks off into the darkness, swallowing slowly. Then he nudges her thigh with his ankle. "...Um. Is this what...I've been doing?"

There's something new in his tone, and she's not sure what to do.

"Doing what?"

"That." He looks back to her, head dipped a little with a guilt that bleeds all over. "Shutting down and turning off for a bit. Have I been doing that?"

"...Yeah." Maggie twists the sheets in her hands. "...A lot." She smiles, quickly. "I'm not mad, Jackson. Not even a little. I'm-"

"-worried." He finishes, gaze trailing off to stare over the edge of the bed again. "Yeah."

God, she wishes it were raining. Some sort of soft noise to break up the silence. She hopes he doesn't say sorry. Jackson has reasons to say it, he's _had_ reasons to say it, but she doesn't want this one. If he says sorry now, he'll associate the slog of trauma he's been trying to trudge through with shame. Embarrassment or being a burden. If he feels ashamed, he's going to turtle back up and they're going to rinse and repeat until they're rubbed raw.

"...Do you trust me?" He asks, as sudden as a brick in a window.

"I don't trust me." Maggie whispers. It's a confession she hasn't shared with him yet, and she speaks as quickly as she can to power through the tightness in her chest. "Like...not that I don't want to...it's just, I'm used to being good at...at _things_, in a specific way, so when I do something new and simple and still very important it...feels like a disaster just waiting to happen. I _want_ to do this right. I walked out on you when you opened up to me about your God quest and I ran off again when things got blurry and I don't want to do that anymore. I _want_ to do right by...you. I love you. _So_ much."

Like a Jenga tower, all the lingering doubts and questions fall away. The corner of Jackson's mouth twitches. His brow relaxes. His affection for her washes over him in a wave, spreading to his shoulders and making him curl a little into himself. It's so unbearably sweet, so helplessly _honest_, she temporarily forgets what she was afraid in the first place.

"I love you...and I also don't want to scare you off." His mouth quirks. "I wanted to do this for you, too, you know."

"What?"

"Come on, Maggie. I'm not the only one stressed." One eyebrow goes up. "Definitely not the only one who wants things to just go right for once. To stop fretting about the ten thousand and one details of life and just live in the now. To...take a breath and not _doubt_ it." His voice dips with a low, sad weight. "...It's hard. I know."

And it's always been hard, for her. She can hear the monotonous drone of monitors in the far off field of her brain, of patients moaning and ambulance tires screeching, and it takes all her willpower not to let those memories enter the room. She...hadn't even _thought_ he'd be fussing just as much. Not that he doesn't look out for her -- in so many little ways, day in and day out -- but this has her blindsided. Jackson has every reason to push back against her compulsive perfectionism. Maybe in offering him a break she just gave him another reason to be worried she'd balk at the pressure of something new.

It's a fleeting moment of hindsight, because one of Jackson's brows has quirked mischievously.

"...Also, if it makes you feel better, I'm gonna be the one with the giant cock up my ass."

"It's not giant." She protests. "It's...above average."

"It'll _feel_ giant."

"Ha, that reminds me when I was just starting out and had to watch a doctor give a patient a rectal exam. He said that the doctor's fingers felt like a-"

"Oh my god. No, we're _not_ turning the bedroom into a physician's table." He does his best to hide an exasperated smile. "Okay. Game plan. Are we doing this?"

She sits up straight.

"Yes."

Jackson leans forward and puts both hands on her shoulders.

"Then use some of that specialty lube that supposedly lasts for three hours at a time and shove that thing up my-"

Maggie puts both hands on his cheeks and kisses him. He goes silent. Kissing Jackson is one of the easiest things in the world, and she's never even been a particularly good kisser.

The dust devil of her thoughts slows to a still. All her obligations, all her worries, even the most _brilliant_ dreams she keeps herself awake at night over...they spin slow once she's breathing Jackson's air. She wishes she had an equation for it. How all he has to do is tilt his head and _sigh_ into her mouth to blow it all away. That easy way he guides her left or right, when their teeth threaten to clack or their noses bump. There isn't a scientist in the world who could figure out how Jackson Avery, a man that should've been a bigger hurdle than a heart transplant, became the easiest thing in her world.

The thick silence is filled bit-by-bit. With sighs and rustling sheets, the click of lips meeting, shifting, then meeting again. He moves to her throat and sucks right where the muscle meets her collar. Maggie kisses the side of his head, where his crop is starting to thicken into tiny curls. Nuzzles his temple until she can feel his pulse speed up. Maggie snakes a hand down his flat stomach to sink between his legs, where he's getting hard again. Jackson's breath stutters, an eager hitch in his throat.

"Can you, uh...prep me a little more. Just want to be safe."

"Of course."

Jackson lays back down again, legs spread and arms folded up by his head, loose and relaxed. The first hiss he lets out is from the shock of cold on warm (which she apologizes vehemently for). The second hiss is much softer, so much so she wonders if she imagined it, until she sees his forehead crinkled with concentration. Maggie can't help but stare as she works him open, watching as his brow knits up, then relaxes, eyelids flickering and staying closed.

"...Good?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Another?"

"Yeah."

She passes the last knuckle. Jackson rolls his mouth tight, sucking in a tight breath through his nose. It's not a totally uncomfortable look. It's...kind of hot, if she's being perfectly honest. Maggie leans in to press a soft kiss to his inner thigh, where his skin gets softer than a puppy paw. She traces her thumb slowly, nudges it in just to feel him squirm with anticipation, then switches to her index. Come to think of it, she can just get him started like this. It's not very far to reach with just her fingers-

"_Holy-_" He gasps, jerking like a livewire. Maggie blinks and pulls back.

"Oh my god. Did that hurt?"

Jackson's eyes are wide as plates, staring up at the ceiling like it's about to swallow him whole.

"No. No, no, no, that was..._that was_...holy _shit_." He leans up his head just enough to blink down at her. "Is this what the clit feels like?"

"Uh, kind of? The clit and the g-spot are-" Maggie blinks, then drops her jaw. "...Oh. You _liked_ that."

"Uh, kind of." He huffs a laugh and drops his head again. "Keep going."

Maggie bites her lip and nuzzles her nose against his knee. Gives his ass a squeeze, because it's one _hell_ of an ass, then presses back in. Another stroke and he's almost floating off the bed, lifting and bucking his hips with these cute little jerks, like he can barely contain himself. It took a little doing to get this man to loosen up, but he's practically putty now. It's almost enough to make her laugh, but she doesn't risk it.

"Just tell me if it hurts."

"Okay." He breathes. One of his fists knots up the blanket. "_Oookay_."

Maggie tries and fails to keep her breathing even when he wriggles like a snake. God, it's hard to concentrate when he..._moves_ like that. She dabs on a little more lube on her fingers, because too much is never enough-

"_Ah, ah, ah-_" Jackson suddenly hisses. She stiffens.

"What?"

"_'s cold!_"

Yep. It's official. She's a complete farce. Jackson _is_ one of those rich mind-readers, because he gives her a scrunched-up smile.

"Hey. Stop that. It's good. Keep going." Then he mutters, out of the side of his mouth: "Ice play, though? Seriously?"

Maggie swats him on the cheek. _Hard_. Jackson snickers and squirms away...then pushes into her hand again when she brushes that sweet spot, because she can't help but be nice to him. Once she's got a third knuckle in -- and she feels like she's about to explode herself -- she leans back and kisses his knee.

"Stop being a butthead."

Jackson runs a cheeky tongue along his teeth.

"Good pillow talk."

She inches up on the bed and over him, until her arms are folded by his head and he's curling up his legs to give her better access. Phew. They've done cowgirl in the past and it still feels entirely surreal, having him all...strewn out and pliant beneath her like this. His face is more flushed and lazy than when he was at the restaurant getting buzzed on bubbly wine.

"Hey."

She can't help the smile that stretches her face.

"God, Jackson..."

He slowly smiles back.

"...What?"

"You're just...so starry-eyed." She leans down enough for their noses to brush, not so close she still can't float off in that seaglass galaxy. "Don't usually get to see you like this."

For a second she's afraid she's shut him back in that pit he always digs for himself, when being vulnerable is harder than living. Jackson even seems to think about it, eyes flicking up every which way as he drinks her in, expression parked halfway between surprised and nervous. But...he doesn't. He just smiles like that, again.

"What can I say. You're damn good at whatever you put your mind to." He winces, then, and kisses her chin. "Now, _please_-"

He doesn't have to ask twice. Maggie presses her nose to his in a nuzzle, simultaneously leaning over and in. Jackson's jaw drops on a gasp, the hiss of air that leaves him is so soft she almost doesn't hear it, one leg hiking up instinctively. As automatic as a heartbeat, Maggie's mind supplies as she pauses halfway to let him adjust. He must _really_ be on the edge, because he hooks that same leg around and nudges at her insistently with his ankle, until she can't go any further. She take a second to watch his pulse flutter in his neck, hypnotized...

...then they're moving, as natural and fluid as the pumping of blood. Little twitches of her hips countered by his relaxed, _hungry_ rocking. She knows when she's gotten the right angle when Jackson suddenly goes boneless, _squirming_ beneath her, breath gone puddle shallow. Maggie grips the sheets tight to keep her balance and stay on course, fighting back the burn already starting to build in her thighs. He's too far gone to even kiss now. He's twisting his head to one side to pant hoarsely, white sheets bouncing against the sweaty sheen on his neck. She's never seen him like this, and she almost can't breathe herself.

"This good?" She whispers. Jackson bites his lip, sighing sharply through the gap.

"_Y-Yeah._ Yeah. Yeah..."

She's so sunk in his rapture she doesn't even realize how wet she is, until she slips a little and rubs against the toy's bump, a spark that makes her gasp. Jackson flutters one eye open, as dizzily as if he'd just woken up.

"Want you to-" He starts, then sucks back a groan when she thrusts again, sloppily gripping at her shoulder. "_Fuck, fuck_-" He huffs again, breath straining. "Just-"

"No. _You_ first." She kisses him to drown out any protests, then kisses his cheek, then his jaw, then his neck and ear and temple because it's impossible to stop loving every last beautiful _inch_ of him.

He twists beneath her, trying for an angle and hitting the extent of his ability. Maggie takes his leg and promptly lifts it up over one shoulder, not breaking her rhythm. Jackson is plenty limber, hugging her neck for balance and still trying to meet her thrusts. He's _close_, because Jackson arches his neck hard enough to jut out his Adam's apple and lets out this sound she's never heard him make before, not even during their most desperate minutes in-between shifts. A strained, hoarse groan that tapers off like a snuffed-out candle.

"_**Fuck-**_"

She thinks she's been too rough, she's hurt him, but Jackson is the furthest thing from hurt. No, he's gasping like he can't breathe and arching into her. A picture-perfect atrophy of nerves she's been looking forward to for a _long_ time. It's only after she's pulled out and reached for the rag on the bedside table she realizes...he hadn't touched himself the whole time. Not _once_. Jackson is still catching his breath when she mops him off, a crown of sweat glittering on his brow.

"HolyshitIcan'tfeelmylegs." He wheezes in a rush. "_Okay._" He pushes away her hand. "My turn."

Maggie hastily tugs off the fruits of her labor and tosses it unceremoniously onto the floor, clambering up to kneel over his face.

"Definitely your turn."

Jackson is exhausted and shaking like a leaf from his high, but the two fingers and tongue he slips inside her are as confident as they've ever been.

The human body is a funny thing. It can just as easily feel completely out of a person's control as it can a puzzle with a set answer. The bedside clock reads two and a half hours later, somehow, and the detail rolls off her back. Maggie's thoughts have turned into smoke, wisping out into the room with each new, warm, muggy breath against Jackson's chest. His fingers have never untangled from her hair, rotating an endless massage. His heartbeat is perfectly sluggish. A success that beats one-one thousand. Two-one thousand. Three-one thousand-

"Feel like I'm going to float away." He mumbles.

"Same." She breathes, letting her eyes drift closed for the fifth time. "Also, sorry about ruining your sheets."

"_Whaaatever_."

Those three syllables are as big an A+ as she's ever gotten, and she's gotten a lot.

"Pretty proud of myself today." She chuckles, leaning back just enough to kiss his beard- "I said, 'Maggie Pierce, if you don't fuck this man's brains out-" Then a kiss on his nose- "'-you will have failed as a girlfriend.'"

"Not my barometer for failure." Is his gentle, exhausted chide. He tries to follow after her kisses, lagging behind like an old computer. "But, yeah. You...really did." His eyelids flutter shut, chest swelling and sagging like a happy balloon. "Mmm. Feel like I could sleep for _days_."

Maggie's heart grows so warm it could pop.

"Good."

Those dark, bright eyes open again. Jackson shifts and rests his cheek on her arm, face as smooth as a dune.

"I love you."

And that's it. That's the thing. The way his soul spreads out into the room with every new blink and the slope of his mouth slackening on a smile. Starry-eyed in their own little haven away from the universe, that Jackson she can always see, even when he can't. Maggie closes her eyes as his nails find her scalp, dappling goosebumps down the length of her spine, dancing over every nerve to eventually flutter her heart strings.

At least she knows now how to spot their hitches...and patch them right up. 

*

_regretting all the patience_

_i'm sorry that I waited too long_

_so if Jupiter is finally fading out this time_

_let the fairytales we wrote about go black and white_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _screeches in lust and feelings_
> 
> Glad I got that out. Now to wait for a new episode of a show I went from vaguely knowing about for years to suddenly binging over the past few months.
> 
> [ I have another Jackson and Maggie fic here, for those who need a little more domesticity in their lives. Enjoy!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21393298)


End file.
